


About You Now

by inber



Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Kissing, Brothels, Come Swallowing, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Messy, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Smut, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Eskel and Geralt have just finished a profitable but tiring hunt, and they both want relief at a local brothel. Unfortunately, there's only one woman available. Luckily, she wants to share, and teach them a thing or two about themselves.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791841
Comments: 23
Kudos: 302





	About You Now

“I don’t know, Geralt.” Eskel nervously eyes the brothel, and folds his arms across his chest protectively. “I’m not exactly the most popular guy in these places. You go ahead.”

“Eskel,” Geralt sighs, “Those cyclops were fucking brutal, and frankly, I’m amazed we’re mostly intact. We deserve to relax a little bit. This is a good establishment, I promise.”

Eskel makes a low sound, on the precipice of agreeing. But Geralt doesn’t know what it’s like to enter a parlour, and have half of the ladies suddenly _unavailable_. How it feels to have a woman ask for the lanterns to be dimmed. “Why don’t you go ahead.” He suggests, “I’ll just...”

“This is bullshit, Eskel,” Geralt says, “There’s nothing wrong with you. Come on.”

And Eskel grumbles, but he lets Geralt lead him up the stairs, through the gauzy curtains and into the lowlight of the brothel. It’s clean, although they both try not to breathe too deeply; no amount of scrubbing could purge the place of the stink of lust and sweat and come. The madame regards the two men warily, betrayed as they are by their golden eyes and dual swords. However, Witchers always pay well.

“Good evening,” Geralt nods, “Myself and my companion would like some company.”

“’Fraid I only have one girl available at the moment. _Sanna!_ ” She calls, and another woman appears in an adjacent doorway. She’s short and voluptuous, and there’s a cheekiness in her eyes and in the curve of her smile that both men find endearing.

But, one courtesan, two Witchers. Eskel sighs.

“You go ahead, Geralt.” He says, “I’ll head back to the inn.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Geralt argues, “You’re as in need of company as I am.”

“Yes, but—”

“Dearest Witchers,” Sanna interrupts, blinking up at them with her wide, kohl-rimmed eyes, “I do not mind seeing to both of you for the evening, if you’d like.”

Geralt meets Eskel’s gaze, and the two of them look briefly alarmed at the proposition. They have a short conversation with the smallest of expressions that would be unreadable to anyone else, but ultimately Eskel blushes, and gives the slightest nod.

“Thank you, Sanna.” Geralt accepts, laying a purse with coin in front of the madame, “We’d like that.”

She seems pleased, and the madame is counting the money, so the two men simply follow the courtesan to the baths. They’re private, fed by hot springs, and scented with rose. “If you’d be so kind as to refresh yourselves,” Sanna is politely pointing out that they both are in need of a scrub, “I will get the room ready.”

Both Geralt and Eskel nod, and then begin to unbuckle their armour. It’s not as if they’ve not been naked in front of one another before – nor is it the first bath they’d shared – but there’s something far different about this time. An intimacy looming, waiting for them.

Eskel gets into the bath first, and he’s grateful for it, because Geralt makes a sound entering the hot water that shoots straight to his heavy cock, making it twitch. _He’s just anxious for Sanna_ , he tells himself. Picking up a sea-sponge, he begins to scrub his body. In silence, Geralt does the same.

“So,” Eskel’s voice is low, but in the tension between them, he might as well have screamed, “How are we... to do this?”

Geralt shrugs, hoping he appears more casual than he feels. He also hopes Eskel can’t hear the slight increase in his pulse – or if he can, he’ll chalk it up to attraction to the woman. “I guess we’ll take turns, if Sanna is amenable to that arrangement?”

Eskel grunts, and scruffs his fingers through his hair. “Um, so, the other will... just watch?”

Geralt feels a blush sneak across his face. Perhaps he hasn’t thought this through entirely. But the idea of Eskel staring as he ruts into Sanna is not unappealing, not in the least. In fact, he feels the stirring of interest in his loins. “Yeah.” He tries to sound confident, “Suits me.”

“Okay.” Eskel agrees, swallowing thickly. He’s not going to have a problem with performance, he knows that, because he’s already hard at the idea. Geralt takes longer to wash his hair – what with the length of it – and Eskel uses the opportunity to step out of the water, rubbing his body down with a bath sheet, and then wrapping a fresh one around his hips. By the time the other Witcher follows suit, Sanna has returned.

“Ah,” She purrs, “Much nicer. My, my, I’m to have my hands quite full, aren’t I?” With a giggle, she coaxes them to follow, and they obey, watching the roll of her hips. They are lead to a well-appointed suite, boasting a roaring fireplace, plush furs, and luxurious furnishings. Although neither of them are new to brothels, they idle as she closes the door behind them, not quite looking at one another, nor at her.

“Let us relax with a drink.” She suggests, reading the tension, and both Witchers relax noticeably. Wine is poured into three cups; the men sit in armchairs at a table, taking up one each. There’s no third seat, but Sanna is unbothered; she chooses Eskel’s lap, her plush behind fitting easily onto his large thighs. Eskel is confused by her choice, but Geralt simply smirks at his friend’s expression. He truly does not see himself clearly.

“Have... you had a pleasant day, Sanna?” Eskel asks, and she giggles.

“Oh, who cares. We’re not here for small-talk, darling. Let’s just say I expect my evening will be _very_ pleasant indeed.” She punctuates her sentence with a backwards rock of her hips, the silk of her robe sliding over Eskel’s cloth-covered erection, and he bites his lip. Geralt chuckles.

She turns her attention to him. “What, you think I’m going to forget you’re here too, gorgeous?” Geralt’s smile fades slightly, giving way to wariness. She fills her mouth with wine, bends over, and kisses him. He is frozen for a moment, staring at Eskel with his lap still full of her, smelling of liquor and desire, but then he shivers at the contact and returns the embrace hungrily. He laps the wine from her mouth, stroking her tongue and chasing the sharp taste of it, and the both of them moan. Eskel’s breath hitches at the sight, his cock throbbing at the small of Sanna’s back.

When they part, Geralt smells the same as Eskel, and the precious gold of his irises have vanished to thin rings. “We—we thought that... you’d wish to take turns.” He explains, his voice thick.

“And miss being filled by both of you at once? What a pity that would be. I can take you,” She strokes the side of Eskel’s face – the unmarred side – “In my cunt, and suck you,” Her bare foot touches Geralt’s knee, “At the same time.”

Again, Geralt and Eskel exchange a glance. _Is this okay?_ Whatever rules they’ve had in place about their relationship have started to blur in the heat of the situation. The more aroused Eskel becomes, the more Geralt reacts, and the loop continues.

“Yes.” Eskel is the one to accept, which surprises Geralt. But he has no objections. “Yes, I—we... that sounds good.”

“Delightful.” She hums, rising. Both men stare at her dumbly, hands gripping the wood of the armchairs as she undoes the sash of her robe and lets the material slither to the ground, leaving her naked. She’s soft with the life of a well-paid working woman, all cushiony breasts and round tummy, and they devour the sight appreciatively.

“Well,” Sanna smiles, “It’ll be hard to fuck you through those cloths, my darlings.” And both of them realise that this is the part where they all get naked. Right.

Eskel fumbles with the tuck of his bathsheet, and Geralt stands, loosening his own and dropping it. When they are both nude, there is a moment of sideways glancing; neither of them want to stare, but they’re curious, and maybe a little more than interested. Sanna saves them by moaning softly at the sight of the two naked Witchers.

“Gods be good,” She says, “You’re both so big.”

“I-is that okay?” Eskel is nervous, concerned for her comfort, “We don’t have... I mean, if...”

“It’s better than okay.” Sanna assures him with a wicked grin, and gestures for Eskel to stand up. He does, padding over to her, and Geralt takes the opportunity to appraise the other Witcher’s ass.

It’s not like they’ve never fooled around before. They grew up together, went through puberty; there were exploratory kisses, and enthusiastic mutual masturbation over lewd drawings they found in Vesemir’s anatomy books, and the quiet sounds of relief when they travelled together and made camp in the darkness. But some of those things were long ago, and some of them were simply urges being met. This, though. This is purposeful, and in a brightly lit room, and Geralt wonders for a moment what Eskel’s lips would taste like, stained with wine.

He swallows thickly, and watches as Eskel sits on the rug with legs laid out straight at Sanna’s direction. Then she straddles his lap, spreads the lips of her wet pussy, and begins to coax his cock within her. Geralt watches it disappear inch by inch, and the sounds they both make force a few hard throbs from his dick. Unthinkingly, he’s stroking himself.

When she’s settled in his lap, Sanna shivers. “Mmh, feels good, darling.” She assures Eskel, who is visibly tense with restraint; he wants friction, but he’s not a taker. He never has been. Sanna’s eyes wander lazily to Geralt. “Come here, you.”

He strides over, standing at Eskel’s right side. It’s a little awkward; the two Witchers trade shy smiles, until Sanna’s lips encircle Geralt’s cock and she begins to swallow him down. Geralt groans, the washboard muscles of his abdomen fisting tightly, and Eskel feels his own length tremble within the courtesan’s walls as he watches.

It’s probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Geralt is big, but Sanna is determined. She fits much of him down her throat, and that which she cannot swallow, she circles with her hand. And then she rolls her hips expertly, beginning to ride Eskel, adopting a rhythm of back-and-forth that services both men. At first, they try to stay silent, but the sounds and smells and the newness proves too much for their resolve. Soon, Eskel is panting, making little whimpers that Geralt cannot get enough of. He growls his pleasure, letting Sanna set the pace so he doesn’t overwhelm her.

“Fuck,” Eskel croons, one hand sinking into the flesh of Sanna’s hip, “I-I can’t, _I—fuck_.” He comes with a stuttering cry, almost overstimulated by it all; his orgasm wracks his body, and Sanna moans around Geralt’s cock. But it’s not her talented service that pushes Geralt into his own climax. It’s the sight of Eskel’s face, lips parted, eyes scrunched closed with the feeling of it.

“I-I’m _coming_ ,” He warns Sanna, almost too late if she didn’t want to swallow him, but he fits him as deeply as possible into her snug little throat and he spills, staring at Eskel the whole time. Somewhere in the fever of it, Eskel’s eyes open, and Geralt’s pleasure spikes as they lock gazes, unflinching. His come drips down Sanna’s mouth, and she stills in Eskel’s lap, catching her breath.

Both Witchers are trembling. She looks pleased. Carefully, she stands, Eskel’s still-hard dick slipping from her messy folds. “See? Much more fun.” She says, picking up a cloth to wipe her chin and between her legs.

“It’s—we’ve been travelling awhile.” Eskel babbles, breaking his stare from Geralt because it’s making him feel giddy and he doesn’t really understand _why_.

“We just need a minute.” Geralt agrees, and Sanna laughs at the apology in their voices.

“Darlings, we have all evening.” She says, handing them their wine. They drain the cup as she sips at her own. “And I know all about Witcher stamina.”

Geralt watches as she slinks back over to him, stroking his lower back with gentle fingers that make him shiver and his nipples pebble. He regards her hungrily, and then Eskel, and then he’s not sure _what_ he wants. Luckily, she’s practiced at leading. She strokes his spit-slick cock gently.

“If you want to fuck my arse, we’ll need oil.” Sanna says, “If you don’t want to be where your friend—”

“No.” Geralt says, a little too quickly. “I mean, I want your cunt.” His low growl makes the scent of her lust spike, but he also smells Eskel. The other Witcher’s eyes are hooded. He hasn’t mistaken Geralt’s desire; he wants to make himself slick with Eskel’s release.

The lines are shifting more and more, as if they never even existed.

“Who am I to deny such a request?” She muses, lowering herself onto the rug, on all fours. “Would you like to kneel and take my mouth, gorgeous?” Her question is directed at Eskel.

The simple pet-name makes him shiver. “Yes.” He agrees, as Geralt lowers himself behind the courtesan. Eskel pushes himself up, kneeling too.

Sanna makes the sweetest sound as Geralt takes her, her cunt slick with Eskel. The white-haired Witcher’s control suffers a little at the feeling, and he jerks his hips forward, sheathing himself completely. She arches her back and keens, and he can’t help it; he begins to rut forward, his massive hands gripping her waist.

Eskel finds her mouth and the talent she has with it, and she uses Geralt’s momentum to suck him, lips swollen and wet around his length. He watches for a moment, transfixed by the concave curve of her cheeks, before he looks up.

She’s small, and the space between himself and Geralt is not far. The other Witcher’s eyes are liquid fire, and they’re completely focused on Eskel. The heat of it consumes him, and a groan claws free from the pit of his chest, raw. In the midst of the primal act, they are exposed and needy and so very naked.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world for Geralt to kiss him. Eskel accepts the other man wholly, tangling his hands in the length of the other Witcher’s hair, all rattling snarls and greedy tongues and nipped lips. Geralt releases one of Sanna’s hips to tenderly cup Eskel’s face, and his hand is trembling.

Between them, Sanna is purring around Eskel’s cock, drooling with the feel of Geralt’s relentless rhythm. When she comes, Geralt buries his face into Eskel’s neck and moans, riding through the clutch of her cunt. He’s unable to withstand the coaxing milk of her fluttering walls, and he floods her, hot jets of his seed bursting from his twitching tip as he whispers Eskel’s name into his skin like poetry. The single word is Eskel’s undoing; he holds Geralt close as his orgasm pulses through him like lightning licks, the flow of his come dripping from Sanna’s mouth as she struggles to swallow. For a moment in time, they are pleasure personified; one interlocked mess of shivering and panting and the sweetness of a long-seated desire finally understood.

In the aftermath, they collapse on the rug. Sanna shivers, wipes her mouth again, and then kisses each Witcher on the chin adoringly. “That felt _wonderful_.” She praises, before she gets up. It would be nice to bask between the two men, yes, but she has a hunch.

As she pours herself more wine, she glances over her shoulder. Geralt is on his side, stroking Eskel’s hair, and Eskel has his hand pressed over Geralt’s chest where his heart beats. They are staring at each other with such affection that Sanna almost feels intrusive. As she takes a sip of the wine, though, they collide bodily in a tangle of limbs and kissing lips and roving hands, and she smirks.

It is a good evening, after all. Sanna watches contentedly as the two Witchers roll about on the rug like horny teenagers, enthusiastic and exploratory. She doesn’t mind that she’s been forgotten. It’s a good view. When they require it, she provides refreshment, and eventually, oil.

It takes many hours for them to work it out of their system, but by orgasm number twelve – Sanna might have lost track of a couple, and she might be a little tipsy – they settle into a pile of huge, exhausted limbs, absolutely shattered.

“We’ll... we’ll pay for the rug.” Eskel whispers, and Sanna laughs. It’ll certainly need a wash.

“Don’t even fret about it, darling.” She says, and then pillows her chin in her hands fondly. “I’m glad you both came to see me, today.”

Geralt’s eyes are bleary, but they’re soft. He nods at the courtesan. “Thank you.” Is all he says, but she knows what he means.

“My pleasure.” She smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to follow my Tumblr for headcanons and general shitposting, I can be found @inber


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